"My lousy sex life," Remo growled. "I want to talk about you, and what you did before you worked for America."
"I do not work for America. I work for Emperor Smith. Remember this. One does not work for nations, for they shift boundaries with the changing times and speak with no single voice. But an emperor is a different matter."
"Before America, who?"
"Immediately before America, I worked for no one. You know that story, Remo. There was no work. I had no heir, for my wicked nephew, Nuihc, had become a renegade. The village of Sinanju had fallen on evil times. I could find no worthy heir and so I resigned myself to living out the natural span of my years knowing that I was the last Master of Sinanju."
"It wasn't always that way," Remo countered. "If you worked for the Japanese in the thirties, you must have worked for other clients. Fess up. Who?"
Chiun stroked his wispy beard. "Why do you suddenly wish to know this, Remo? We have known each other for many years. Never before have you asked me about my past."
"I never gave it much thought before," Remo admitted. "So who else did you kill?"
"We," Chiun corrected.
"Who? Gandhi?"
"The price was too low and I was too proud to work cheap," Chiun said flatly. "Amateurs got that one."
"Who else?" Remo pressed.
"There were so many. I cannot recall their names," Chiun said evasively.
"Okay, let's try it from another angle. Other than the Japanese, who did you work for?"
"I had clients in my young days, it is true. Some minor princes. No one you would know."
"Hitler?"
"That posturing Austrian?" Chiun spat. "Too late, I was assigned to eradicate that one. I was cheated of my fee."
"By the British or the Russians?"
"By the victim. He heard of my approach and immolated himself. The coward." "I'm not hearing names," Remo said evenly.
"You would not recognize many of them. You are too young. They were before your time."
"Names. C'mon. You're hiding something. For years you've been regaling me with stories of previous Masters, but hardly any of your own. Who'd you work for before America?"
"A Chinese," Chiun admitted.
"Not the thieving Chinese, scourge of the Sinanju collection agency? The one who defaulted on a fifteen-dollar fee in 1421?"
"Not the Chinese. A Chinese. An individual. A mandarin."
"Not an emperor?"
"He was ambitious. This was before the Communists, of course."
"Would I know of him?"
"Not under his true name. But he was known to the West under a silly name, Fu Achoo, or some such nonsense."
Remo made a face. "Fu . . . you can't mean Fu Manchu?"
"See? Even you understand what a ridiculous name it is. It was that lunatic British scribbler's fault. He disseminated all manner of lies and slanders about me."
"You? What are you talking about? I read those books as a kid. I don't remember any Korean assassins in them."
"Precisely, Remo. He changed everything willy-nilly. Where the Master of Sinanju was at work, he improvised Dacoits. I think that was in The Ears of Fu Achoo. Dacoits are always cutting their own fingers off by accident. Poisonous spiders, venomous scorpions, and other insects abound in those ridiculous books. But not one single Korean. I ended up on the cutting-room floor."
"You're mixing your media, but I get what you say."
"It was that so-called author who was mixed up. Imagine a Chinese named Fu Manchu. The Manchus are not even Chinese. They are nomads, like the Mongols. It would be like naming you Remo Apache."
"Little Father, I think you're pulling my leg. Fu Manchu was a fictitious character. He never existed."
"His gold existed," Chiun shot back.
"I don't believe you. You're just telling me this to hide the truth."
"Then do not believe me," Chiun sniffed. "Your lack of faith does not change the truth, only your perception of what is truth and what is falsehood."
"So what happened to this alleged client?"
"He died. Then the hard days began. It was very long ago, and the memories unpleasant. Not like the bird woman,
Amelia. Now, that was a magnificent assassination, the first in the Sinanju line to extinguish both an aircraft and its pilot with a single blow. You see, I attacked the-"
"Save it. It's a depressing thought."
"To the victim, perhaps. But we are Sinanju, Remo. We are never the victim."
Remo's eye sought the floor. He was quiet for several minutes. Presently he lifted his head.
"I am unhappy, Little Father."
"Yes?"
"I am unhappy with Smith."
"The purpose of an emperor is not to make his assassin happy," Chiun intoned solemnly, "only wealthy. It will pass."
"I am unhappy with Sinanju."
"What! Unhappy with the near-perfection of existence? How can this be so?"